


Three Witches

by kalirush



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Genre: F/M, Fluff, References to Shakespeare, Tybalt POV, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:07:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21851929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalirush/pseuds/kalirush
Summary: Toby has a romantic surprise for Tybalt.
Relationships: October "Toby" Daye/Tybalt
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Three Witches

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/gifts).



“My love,” I said. My knuckles were white where I was clutching the grab handle and my stomach had been left somewhere on the freeway behind us. “I know that you wished to take us on some errand so urgent that it was needful for us to awake in the afternoon, but is there a reason that we had to take this contraption? You know that I would have been happy to convey us.” 

“Yes,” October said, shifting lanes. “But then I’d have had to tell you where we were going, and _then_ it wouldn’t be a surprise.”

I swallowed. “Are you certain that you mean _surprise_ , and not _emergency_?” I asked her, trying to distract myself from the scenery flying past us. “You often seem confused about the distinction.”

She snorted. “We’re almost there,” she told me. _It’ll be over soon_ , I heard. I closed my eyes and tried not to look where we were going. Suddenly, she took a hard right and blessedly, we stopped moving. I cracked my eyes open to find us on a perfectly ordinary-looking street.

“We’ll have to walk from here,” October said, getting out of the car. 

“I have never minded walking,” I said, putting myself outside that devilish machine as quickly as I was able. I vowed to insist on making my own way home.

“Come on,” she said, looping her arm in mine. She smelled, as she always did, of copper and coffee and the living green. I breathed her in, matching my stride to hers. 

“Will you tell me where we are going _now_?” I asked her, not placing much hope in her response.

“It’s a _surprise_ ,” she insisted. But city streets gave way to trees and a trail and an increasingly large number of humans around us, and I recognized where we were: McLaren Park. 

With that knowledge, I suddenly knew where we must be going. My heart skipped in my chest with the realization of what October intended. “October,” I said, stopping in the middle of the trail. “Are you taking me to the Shakespeare Festival?”

She turned back to me, pleased and annoyed all at once, but smiling at me. “You figured it out,” she said. I pulled her into my arms and kissed her, that being the only medium I could find to adequately express my appreciation. “It was May’s idea,” she admitted, as we pulled apart, moments later.

I was not surprised. October was a woman of many fine and appreciable qualities, but an ability to read a calendar was not one of them. “It’s _Macbeth_ this year,” I told her. I had had every intention of attending this years’ production- I have never missed one- though I had intended to catch one of the later performances further out of town.

“Aren’t you not supposed to say the title?” she said. “It’s supposed to be bad luck.”

“Bad luck for the players,” I said. “Or the theatre. But no need to worry; I shall not speak the name when we get closer. Have you ever seen it performed?”

October squinted as she considered her answer, and I was struck with a terrible thought.

“October,” I said, “Have you not seen any Shakespeare play?” A further, yet more terrible possibility occurred to me. “Have you never seen a play at all?”

She shrugged. “I saw _A Christmas Carol_ once?” she said. 

I tried to control my expression, though I’m sure my dismay showed through. I pulled myself together, taking her hand once more. “Seeing the play with you,” I said, “Will be like seeing it again for the first time.”

She snorted at me, as she so often did. “When did you actually see it for the first time?” she asked, ever probing for information.

On this subject, I didn’t mind obliging her curiosity. “It was Garrick’s revival on Drury Lane,” he said. “A bastardization in some respects, but I shall always have a soft spot in my heart for it. And Mrs. Pritchard- what a wild and savage Lady Macbeth!” I shook my head. “There have been few like her since. In some sense, I think that she set the tone for what a Lady Macbeth should be ever after.”

October was smiling at me again as we walked, and in that moment, I felt that I might die for that smile. I dipped for another kiss.

“You are such a nerd,” she said, nudging me fondly. 

“I am a King of Cats,” I protested. My fur, had I had any at the moment, would have been raised on my neck. “I am not a nerd.”

“I like it,” she declared. _I like you_ , she did not not say. Her willingness to bring me here, to share in something which I so fondly loved, said it for her.

There were humans milling around everywhere in the amphitheatre, but October had brought us to the theatre sufficiently before the start of the play to find reasonable seats- more of May’s influence, no doubt. October led us to a bench partway down the hill. We seated ourselves, and she leaned into me, fitting into my arms as though they had been made to hold her.

“What about your favorite actors?” she asked me, after a time, cocking her head up to me. “Who’s your favorite M-” she broke off, shrugging. “You know.”

I had the suspicion that she was humoring me- asking me less because she was interested in the answer and more because she thought that the telling might please me. Still, I loved her for it either way. “It’s hard to choose from so many productions over the years,” I told her. “But if Mrs. Pritchard holds my heart as the Lady, I think Jack Carter might be my favorite in the title role. A controversial choice, perhaps, but the entire production was electric, and Carter deserves no small portion of the credit.”

She nodded, though I was nearly certain that she didn’t know what I was talking about. “The Lafayette Theater,” I began to explain. “Orson Welles-” 

But the crowd was rustling, and it seemed the actors might take the stage in the near future. I quieted myself, enjoying that expectant hush, the moment before the magic began. I had my love- my hero, my exasperating Beatrice- in my arms. The Bard’s words were about to fill the air. I breathed- copper and coffee and green, green life- and waited for the witches to take the stage.

**Author's Note:**

> I also wrote the Wayfarers story; four of your five requests were fandoms that I share with you. We'll see how many treats I get written. :D


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